


You Are a Memory

by BeckyConda



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Grief/Mourning, I think I wrote it to make myself feel better about Marco's death, Jean mourning Marco, M/M, because he is my child and was (is) my favourite, idk where the idea for this came from, rip my freckled angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 18:49:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2399024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckyConda/pseuds/BeckyConda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone else seems to get back into their normal routine after the disastrous battle at Trost, focusing on the positives. But not Jean. There are some things Jean can't forget. Or, more importantly, someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are a Memory

**Author's Note:**

> ~Title from the song of the same name by Message to Bears~
> 
> I kinda just wrote this in one go when the idea came to me. I've gone through it myself to check for errors but this hasn't been beta'd, so if you spot anything please let me know, and I hope you enjoy it

"Marco."

He felt stupid. Like he was an idiot for even thinking of doing this. But he had to, had to at least try because he was slowly going crazy.

"Marco?"

Silence met his question, which really wasn't surprising at all. The barracks were empty, everyone else seated in the dining hall eating. Laughing, probably, and joking together. Sometimes, when he ventured into the dining hall with everyone else and forced himself to eat, he would almost forget everything that had happened.

 _Almost_.

One glimpse of Connie teasing Sasha, or Ymir draping an arm around Christa as she whispered things in her ear which caused the petite blonde to blush prettily, and he'd almost forget about the empty seat to his left. Once, he'd laughed at one of Connie's jokes and reached to nudge Marco to ask why he wasn't laughing too, but his elbow hit only the cold air. It didn't dig into a warm, freckled side like it used to.

He'd stopped listening to Connie's jokes after that.

"The others would think I'm crazy," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. A quiet, humourless laugh slipped past his lips. "Maybe I am."

He glanced over at the bed next to him, the one he'd found Marco lounged across so many times over the past three years; the one he'd woken from nightmares in the middle of the night to find Marco sleeping on, a warm, friendly smile upon his face even in sleep.

God how he missed him.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," he admitted, his voice breaking towards the end of his sentence. "I had it all figured out. Graduate in the top ten, join the Military Police, and live in safety and comfort for the rest of my life." Jean sighed, closing his eyes as he shook his head. "Never thought I'd change my mind on it, either. But here I am, on my last night in this fucking place, ready to join the Recon Corps tomorrow with everyone else."

Opening his eyes, he forced himself to look away from Marco's bed, to look at anything but something that held a reminder of his- his deceased friend. Best friend, even.

"You always seemed to know what was the best thing to do," he continued, clearing his throat to dislodge the lump that'd risen. "And I have no fucking clue." He paused, glancing towards the door as he listened intently to make sure there was no sign of the others returning yet.

"I need a sign, Marco. Even just a small one. Anything," he said, tone verging on desperate. His hands curled into fists in the sheet lay across his lap as he gritted his teeth, blinking rapidly to get rid of the tears he felt pooling in his eyes. "I need to know if I'm doing the right thing here, or if I'm just being a suicidal fucking idiot like Jeager."

Jean glanced around the room, feeling ridiculous as he searched for some sort of sign. He didn't even know if Marco would still be around. Ghosts and all that crap was something he wasn't sure if he believed in or not, but even if he did why would Marco choose to stick around here when he could go on to, well, wherever it was people went after death?

When he found nothing, he sighed, disappointment and embarrassment welling up inside of him. Of course nothing had happened, he was going insane. The sleepless nights were taking their toll, and he was starting to think stupid ideas were immensely clever ones. Marco had been wrong. He wouldn't make a good leader. How could he be responsible for looking after a squad full of people when he couldn't even look after himself - or his best friend?

A shiver ran up his spine, and he pulled the sheet further up his body in response. Glancing down, he noticed something fall off the sheet, landing surprisingly on Marco's bed. Frowning, Jean released his grip on the sheets and reached across to grab it, holding it up in front of his face to examine it.

A feather?

One that was pure white, not even a speck of dirt on it.

There were no birds inside the barracks and the windows were all closed too. In fact, he couldn't even hear any birds close by. So how did-

Marco?

Jean looked up, his head snapping to the side as he scanned the room for anything else. He found nothing, but didn't feel as disappointed when he turned his attention back to the feather as he had before. Something his mother used to say popped into his head, and he found himself almost smiling.

“ _Look, Jean. Do you see that feather? A white feather. Some say our loved ones will occasionally leave one for us to let us know they're around, that they're okay_."

"Marco," he whispered quietly, clutching the feather tightly in his hand. Marco was looking out for him, he was watching his back even now, Jean was sure of it. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, the lack of food or him simply finally losing his mind, but he was sure of it.

The creak of the door opening made him jump, and he hastily shoved the feather in his jacket pocket, desperate to keep it with him at all times. He didn't want the others to see it. They barely paid any attention to him, not even Jeager tried to start an argument, knowing he'd more than likely want to be left alone for the night like every other night.

That night, though, he didn't wait until everyone else fell asleep to finally give in and let the tears fall. That night, he fell asleep half on Marco's bed and half on his own, wrapped in both sheets, his face pressed into the pillow that still vaguely smelt of Marco, long before everyone else, with the hint of a smile on his face.


End file.
